Swimming to Tokyo Read Online Free Page B

Christensen. You know, for old time’s sake.”
    “Let’s leave Pete Christensen back in those prom photos where he belongs. This dress, however, deserves as much air time as it can get,” Mindy says.
    I pull my T-shirt over my head and let the straps fall over my shoulders, unbuttoning my shorts beneath the skirt. “Pete wasn’t that bad. He was just boring.”
    “Exactly.” Mindy comes up behind me and twists my hair into a quick knot at the base of my neck. For prom last year, Babci curled it into careful ringlets, making me look more like Mom than I ever have, before or since. Mom was all sleek curls and casual elegance. Mindy’s rendition isn’t sleek or elegant, but wearing the dress again makes me feel glamorous, despite the curls that escape. “Come on. Let’s go downstairs. We’re out of wine.”
    She takes the last gulp straight from the bottle to prove it and we both laugh. Since we’re not driving, Dad’s policy on drinking is pretty lax, even though we’re underage. He gave me a big spiel last year about drinking responsibly and how he’d come to get me, no questions asked, if I was too drunk to drive, but we both know there’s no way in hell I’d ever call him. I wouldn’t drive drunk either, so the end result is that my drinking is perfunctory. At best.
    Mindy, on the other hand, has not only a taste for wine, but a preference. And Chardonnay is her favorite.
    When we walk through the French doors onto the deck, Mindy heads straight for the ice bucket that’s chilling the second bottle of wine and pours us both a refill. I intend to slide into an empty chair, but Babci’s voice stops me. “Zosia. Look how lovely. Come, let me see you.”
    I smile and Babci reaches out, her hand running softly over the bodice of the dress. “We found it in my closet and I had to put it on,” I explain.
    “If I had your figure, I’d wear that dress every day,” Liz says. “This is the one you and Mindy found at Van’s Vintage, right?”
    I nod. “I got this and Mindy found her blue Sgt. Pepper jacket.”
    “God, it seems like just yesterday you were walking out the door to your prom,” Dad says. “You’re growing up too fast, Zo.”
    I resist the urge to remind him I’m nearly nineteen, not nine.
    “I met your dziadzia when I was your age, you know,” Babci says.
    “I doubt I’m going to be meeting anyone,” I say with a laugh.
    Mindy puts an arm around me. “Not with that attitude, you won’t. Maybe there’s some Japanese guy out there just waiting to sweep you off your feet.”
    Even Liz laughs at this, and she’s the eternal optimist when it comes to dating. Although, to be fair, she actually dates.
    “You know I’m taller than most Japanese guys.” I do my best to keep my smile in, but I feel my lips turn up. “The average Japanese guy is five-foot-seven, and there is no way I’m dating someone shorter than me.” Even if it is only an inch.
    “Kevin Morgan was shorter than you,” Mindy says, wiggling her eyebrows.
    I blush, but I think Mindy’s the only one who can tell. Kevin Morgan is the guy I dated sophomore year, my first and last serious boyfriend. My first and last, well, everything and anything guy-related. There have been others since, a month here, a couple weeks there, even a few blind dates, but no one else I’ve been close with—and sure as hell no one else I’ve been naked with.
    Dad smiles and says, “There’s no hurry, Zo. Like I said, it all seems like it’s going too fast as it is. Just think, one of these days, you and Mindy will be here with your boyfriends, maybe even your kids.”
    “Stop right there before you start getting sappy,” I say as sternly as I can. “There will be no more talk of kids. Or my boyfriends and lack thereof. From now on, I declare the only acceptable topic is food because I’m starving.”
    Dad jumps up. “Wait. Before we start talking about who wants burgers versus hotdogs, I have something for you.”
    He walks into